Look, he waits upon the roof
Silent, unseeing, aloof
Dreamy eyes upon the skies
Gazing forlornly.
-
How he thinks all things are lies,
Longs for something so unwise—
Wishing for the gift of flight,
Only to be free.
-
Sometimes, in the dead of night,
He sits with his lamp alight
Sewing two wide feathered wings,
Working secretly.
-
Why does he still shun all things?
Longing for such wanderings
In the sky, a thing too far…
What, there, does he see?
-
He still works at night, afar
With a focus none can mar
Working for a distant call
From a fantasy.
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Dreams are lies, they promise all
Yet they lead men to downfall
Will he ever learn what's true?
That may never be.
-
So, he sits, beyond the view
Waiting for a sign, a clue
That his dream will soon come true
Wishing, endlessly.